Saturday 30th March 2019

Each Sunday evening, the Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland (@BSBI) curate an event of Twitter each Sunday night, where under the hashtag, #wildflowerhour, people from all over the country publish pictures of plants and flowers they have seen each week. This, over the last two years or so, has enabled me to identify more and more flowers, go out looking for plants but be able to identify plants that I come across.

Some plants and flowers are most stunning than others, and just scream out that you should go out and find some, or wish you lived in the part of the country in which they grow. Grass of Parnassus is one, and Pasque Flower is another.

We have Pasques growing in a pot, but they are a cultivated variety, but there is a species that grows wild in Britain, just not in Kent.

So, I found a reserve in Hertfordshire where they grow, followed their Twitter account and waited until they were at their peak, and so on Saturday I was set to drive to Royston.

Yes, Royston.

I like Royston, not that I have ever been in the town, not even yesterday. But, back when I was in the RAF, we all had nicknames. Those that came to us from training claimed they had no nickname, so it was only fair we would give them one. Nicknames were not to be given lightly, could be where someone is from, like Geordie, Taff or so on, or something else, like if they were a big bloke, we could tall then Tiny.

Roy was difficult. He came from the north east, but not from Newcastle, and so we struggled for several minutes with his potential nickname whilst we taught him to play Uckers, Hunt or Nom.

Roy. Can't shorten that much.

Roy. Roysten.

Roysten. Yes, now, that is in Essex, no? So, Roy was called Essex.

Next day we tought Royston was in Cambridgeshire, but what the heck?

In fact, it is just in Hertfordshire.

Anyway, the reserve is on the edge of Royston, just off the A505, which used to be the main road from where I lived to NW London.

Anyway, the plan was laid. But I would be going without Jools, as she was to granny sit Bet, as Jane was going to London for a Walking Dead event in London (me neither) as Jen is still in Australia.

At seven, after coffee and getting dressed, I dopped Jools off in Whitfield and drove up the A2. Another cool but sunny start, but soon developed into a fine and warm day.

I was at the tunnel by eight, and driving up the M11 ten minutes or so later, pressing on, for no particular reason, other than I was excited.

Nearly into Cambridge, I turned west past the national aircraft museum, one day I'll go there, but not today. Twenty minutes to Royston, then around the town on the bypass, off at a roundabout and into a small car park, while on the down above, the bepringled ruined a good walk by playing golf.

Royston sits on the edge of The Fens; to the north flat farmland stretches to the horizon, or into the mist. While to the north, the north downs rose up; chalk downland, home to many rare plants and animals.

I got out of the car, walked to the information board, only to find it only told the history of the heath, nothing about what or where things could be found.

I drove on to the sports centre, and on the wall was a map, and Church Hill was near to where I parked first. So, I drive back, grabbed my camera stuff, and set off beside one of the long holes.

That the club shares the space with a nature reserve seems off, but when I needed to cross a hole, the golfers stopped and waved when I shouted my thanks to them. With there being no signs, I wandered towards the downs, along a lane then through a gateway and up the chalk down. I could see no one, nor now flowers, except thousands of violets. Up I went, and then to my right I saw a single purple and yellow flower.

A Pasque Flower.

I took a few shots.

Further up I found two more growing together.

I was so happy, I stooped to take more shots.

Down below, a trio of golfers ponder their next puts on the green below. I stood up and saw two firgures ahead with the sun behind them They were standing in the middle of a purple carpet. Hundreds of Pasque Flowers.

So many, it made your head spin. Mnay were out, some fully, others just to open. The most sensational display, and just on the south and east flanks of this small down.

I talked to the couple, who were both armed with DSLRs, we swapped details and might meet again as they plan to come to Kent for some main season orchiding.

I was going to visit some churches nearby, but something told me I should get back into Kent, mainly so I could look for the first flowering spike of Early Purple, but I thought that traffic would only get heavier.

And I was right.

I made good time back south on the M11, but slowed as I neared London and turned onto the M25, only to be met with matrix warning signs saying the next junction was closed. Not much I could do about it, and there was a three mile queue waiting to leave onto the A12, and on the motorway going was stop start for some time. Traffic was much worse on the other carriageway, miles of stationary traffic going nowhere fast.

I make it over the bridge into kent, down the A2. It was always my plan to stop at Stockbury, but another queue of traffic there meant I would have turned off anyway.

Down the hill to where I turn off the main road, and within yards the silence of the countryside smothered all noise except the sirens of police cars trying to get to the accident I had just avoided

I park the car and walk up the lane to the reserve, Wood Anemones were carpeting the woodland floor, and a few bluebells here and there were opening. In the upper glade I look everywhere for the sign of a purple coloured spike, but all I found were rosettes.

No orchids in flower.

In the lower meadow, dozens of Lady Orchid rosettes were everywhere, many of an impressive size. Will be quite a show in two weeks or so.

I return to the car and drive to the M20, knowing that going will be slow because of the lorry park for Brexit, but should get home in time.

On the radio I have the football on, excitement building for me until Norwich kicks off at half five.

The cats greet me, so I feed them, but both turn their noses up at lamb. I listen to the football and listen to more football as the Prem season builds towards its climax in seven games time.

Time goes on and darkness falls, City kick off against Middlesborough. It was a close game, but early in the 2nd half, City score, and look like hanging on. Earlier Leeds had won, but Sheffield Utd had lost to Bristol, we could end up being seven points clear of 3rd place Blades.

Mike drops Jools back home, as I am swearing at the computer as Twitter reveals six minutes of injury time.

Once the final whistle goes, I cook dinner and open a wee bottle of Tripel to wash the frozen curry I had bought from a petrol station. Better than it sounds to be honest.

I watch the highlights of the Championship while sipping huge glasses of hedgerow port, which tastes very sweet as Norwich are now on the very edge of promotion.

Oh my word, heady days.